


staying

by skuls



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s08e15 DeadAlive, Episode: s08e16 Three Words, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 16:14:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16726692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skuls/pseuds/skuls
Summary: Prompt: scully sold her apartment after mulder’s “death.” when he wakes up in the hospital. she’s moved into his place.





	staying

**1.** It doesn’t make any sense to keep it, she tells herself at first. He’s not coming back. And she has an apartment, an apartment that is bigger, and she’s already picked out the baby’s room, and there is no reason to move, there is no reason to move, he’s not coming back…

She falls into the habit of sleeping at his apartment, tangled up in his sheets and blankets, one hand curled over her growing belly. She tells herself every morning that she’s going to start packing it up, going to call the Gunmen to ask them to help with the heavy lifting. And every day, she doesn’t do it. She goes into work every day and drives back to Alexandria every day at five. Drives home, she starts saying out of habit.

The thing is that she should have horrible memories of Mulder’s apartment. Nearly having her heart pulled out on his hardwood floor, identifying Mulder’s false body, holding Skinner at gunpoint. Memories of him, being with him, kissing him, loving him, losing him. None of his shirts smell like him anymore. But there are so many good memories, too. Curled up in his bed like this, she can almost pretend that he is here with her. She remembers the way he kissed her right before he left for Oregon, his hands on her hips, their noses smushed together. She can’t leave. She doesn’t know how to leave.

When she calls the Gunmen, it’s to help her move out of her apartment.

**2.** Scully takes Mulder home from the hospital. She takes him home, to his apartment. He’s still surprised she didn’t sell it. Three months that she kept a dead man’s apartment; he almost can’t believe it.

When she opens the door, his surprise increases. The apartment looks lived-in, like it’s been cleaned. There’s laundry folded on the coffee table, there’s shopping bags from Babies-R-Us, there’s a box of decaf coffee on the counter. A stack of Scully’s books on the desk, with What To Expect When You’re Expecting. An X-File beside it. “Something looks different,” he says in a trembling voice.

Scully exits his bedroom from where she was depositing his bag. “It’s clean,” she says in a bone-dry voice, like she’s trying to make him laugh.

He does chuckle, nervously. “Ah, that’s it,” he mutters, sweat on the back of his neck. He cranes his neck to look at his fish tank. “Missing a molly,” he remarks.

“Yeah,” Scully says softly. “She wasn’t as lucky as you.”

The reminder is harsh, a lump rising in his throat. Her voice is so vulnerable. He’s silent. He sits on the edge of the desk gingerly.

“Mulder…” Scully says in a soft, vulnerable voice. “I don’t know if you’ll ever understand what it was like. First learning of your abduction… and then searching for you and finding you dead.” Mulder nods, gingerly, his throat thick with nervousness. “And now to have you back, and…”

He feels the need to lighten the tension. “Well, you act like you’re surprised,” he says with a nervous chuckle.

“I prayed a lot,” Scully says in a choked voice, like she’s going to cry. “And my prayers have been answered.”

He gulps. He’s looking at her belly, thinking of how much she wanted this, to be a parent. How much they both wanted this, at one time. “In more ways than one,” he says softly.

“Yeah,” Scully murmurs.

He feels like he can barely talk. He takes a few nervous swallows. “I’m happy for you,” he says. “I think I know… how much this means to you.”

He’s not looking at her, but he can read her silence: he’s hurt her. “Mulder…” she says in a trembly voice.

“I’m sorry,” he says with disgust. He hates himself, but he doesn’t know what to do. “I just… I have no idea where I fit in… right now. I just, uh… I’m having a little trouble… processing… everything.”

He still can’t look at her. He’s looking out the window. She sounds like she’s going to cry. She says, “That's… that’s certainly understandable. Y-You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to… pressure you, or put expectations on you. I just… I just want to know that you’re okay, Mulder.”

“And I’m not sure that I am,” he snaps, too harshly. His chest is too tight, he can’t breathe. His nose is stinging like he’s going to cry, too.

He still can’t see her, but he can hear her. She’s sniffling. When she speaks again, he can tell she is crying. “If you need time, Mulder…” she says shakily, “I want to give it to you. Whatever you need.”

He takes a few unsteady breaths, wiping a tear away. “How long is it since you’ve been home, Scully?” he asks softly.

It’s not because he wants her to leave. It’s not that at all. It’s just that he doesn’t know how to deal with this. It’s just that he can’t breathe. And she shouldn’t have to deal with this, not after everything. She should go home and rest.

She doesn’t say anything at first, and he starts to worry. He thumbs a tear out of his eyes and turns towards her, to see the look of astonishment on her face. He is instantly sorry. “Scully…” he starts.

“Maybe you should lie down, Mulder,” she whispers, in the smallest voice. “Get some rest.”

“What about you?” he says immediately. He’s thinking of the baby, the circles under her eyes, all those nights at the hospital with him. “You need rest, too.”

“I’m fine, Mulder,” she says firmly, and it shouldn’t hurt that much, but it does. He nods. He goes into the bedroom alone. When he closes the door, she is still standing in the living room, forlorn, her face streaked with tears.

**3.** He doesn’t notice it until he wakes up: the sheets smell like her. She’s been sleeping here, he realizes. She’s been bringing her things here, and he immediately feels guilty for kicking her out.

But she hasn’t left. She’s parked herself on his couch, and she doesn’t seem ready to leave. She smiles at him when he exits his bedroom, and the warmth in it is not deserved. He feels a rush of shame at that warmth. He sits beside her on the couch—not as close as he might have before, but he sits beside her. And she doesn’t leave. Even throughout everything that happens over the next few days—with Doggett and Kersh and Absalom and the census bureau, every hurtful thing that he says—she still doesn’t leave. She sleeps stubbornly on his couch until he tells her to take the bed, and she casts him an almost nervous look when he doesn’t go into the bedroom with her. He sprawls out on the sofa, trying to figure out what the hell has happened.

(When he wakes up, out of a panicked dream, flashing back to the ship, sweaty and trembling, she is there. She sits beside him on the couch, stroking his hair and whispering soothing words. He sits up in a jerky motion, suddenly clinging to her in a desperate sort of way, burying his face in her neck. She clings to him with a similar desperation, her nails digging into his back, rocking him back and forth. The baby kicks between them, and he chokes out a sob against her collarbone. She holds him on the couch until he stands and they stumble into the bedroom together. She’s still there.)

She stays, even after he and Doggett (this new fucking partner of hers) almost get themselves killed. She’s quiet and angry on the way home, her jaw set, her eyes wet. He expects her to leave, go home and get some space, but she doesn’t. She lets them in with her key, the one with the M taped to it, and then she drops her keys on the counter and walks silently to the bedroom. The door shuts hard behind her.

**4.** Mulder doesn’t know what to do after that. He could try apologizing, but his throat is thick, the words won’t come up. He wants to curl up in a ball on the couch, but he doesn’t want to be alone. He wants to go into his room and wrap himself around her, but he doubts she wants to talk to him. He paces the halls a little aimlessly, poking around.

He keeps finding Scully’s stuff. That tea she likes in the cabinet, her books on the shelf next to his, her supplies in the desk. Boxes in the hallway, boxes of her clothes and her knickknacks… He finds his spare room, the one off the bathroom he uses as storage, with all of the boxes stacked in one corner. A crib halfway set up, a few strokes of different paint colors on the wall. Testing out colors. This was going to be the baby’s room. The baby.

Mulder’s breath falters, just a bit, and then he’s turning around, he’s nearly running down the hall. He raps his fist briefly against the door before pushing it open. Scully is sitting up in bed, blankets wrapped around her, eyes rimmed red. “Mulder…” she starts.

“Scully, are you living here?” he says softly.

**5.** Her face shifts a little, crumples. “I… I didn’t know what to do,” she whispers, balling the comforter in her fists. Her hand is to her belly. “I… I missed you so much, Mulder…”

He collapses on the edge of the bed, he reaches for her hands, takes them and kisses the back of them, her palms, her fingers. She takes a shaky breath, quivering in place. “Scully,” he mumbles against her wrists, and his eyes are filling. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t know how to,” she chokes out. “I felt so… foolish, taking over your apartment like that… imposing on your space…”

He’s crying. He’s crying, too, and he kisses her hands again before scooting up on the bed, wrapping his arms around her. “You’re not imposing,” he says into her hair. “You’re never imposing. Ever.”

She sniffles wetly. She reaches for one of his hands and pulls it to her belly. “I wanted our baby to know his father,” she says. “I wanted him to know you.”

He draws back in astonishment, staring at her, at his palm pressed to her stomach. He can feel the baby moving under his hand. She’s looking at him with wet, nervous eyes. “I-it’s mine?” he stammers. She nods. “I’m a father?” he whispers.

“Yes,” Scully chokes out, and her head drops to his chest. “You’re a father. We’re parents, Mulder.”

He tugs her closer, wrapping his arms tight around her, palming the back of her head. She sniffles against his shirt, tugging hard at the hem. “I’m sorry,” he gasps against her hair. “I’m so sorry, I… I had no idea.”

“I’m sorry I stole your apartment,” she mumbles, and he laughs, kisses the corner of her mouth gently. “I missed you,” she says, turning her head to catch his mouth.

“I missed you,” he says fiercely, because he did. He kisses her cheeks, her nose, bumps his forehead against hers. “Please don’t leave,” he whispers. “I want you to stay. I’ve always wanted you to stay.”


End file.
